


Stay

by Thaly



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Blood, Canon Compliant, Kinda, M/M, Night Terrors, pre-trk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7592983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thaly/pseuds/Thaly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Ronan had become better at controlling his dreams; being chosen by a forest growing on a ley line helped —or maybe he had chosen the forest, maybe that fact was just a coincidence (even though they might not even be real); an accidental connection in the great scheme of things. A scheme that Adam, despite how much he tried, couldn’t yet fully understand. However, not even Ronan Lynch could fight forever against his own demons.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Stay](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5535383) by [Thaly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thaly/pseuds/Thaly). 



> Hi everyone! This is the first fanfic I wrote of the TRC fandom (back in September 2k15), and it’s originally in Spanish, but since the fandom in my own language is super small, I thought I would give it a try and translate it to share it with all of you ^^
> 
> Considering when it was written, it’s obviously no TRK compliant. I hope you enjoy it anyway :)

Ronan had become better at controlling his dreams; being chosen by a forest growing on a ley line helped —or maybe he had chosen the forest, maybe that fact was just a coincidence (even though they might not even be real); an accidental connection in the great scheme of things. A scheme that Adam, despite how much he tried, couldn’t yet fully understand. However, not even Ronan Lynch could fight forever against his own demons.

November had never been a month with a kind climate in West Virginia, and the night cold seeped through the blanket in which Adam Parrish was wrapped while he completed the translation of a Latin text for class. Absorbed in it, his heart beating in synch with that of the ley line, far away, he was starting to feel the weight of the late night on his eyes. But he straightened, suddenly awake, on the bed when he heard the knocking on the door; a cadence that tried to be insistent and go unnoticed at the same time.

He stood from the mattress, letting the blanket fall and fold over it, and in a step and a half he was at the door. It wasn’t unusual for Gansey to come by, from time to time, knowing he used to stay up late, trying to make his school grades the best —when he felt like Monmouth was closing in on him. It wasn’t unusual also, like in that moment, for Ronan to come by any other night. They usually talked until impossible hours —about Cabeswater, the ley line, Glendower— and it wasn’t either unusual that he slept there, on a portion of the floor; that action, for some reason Adam didn’t really wanted to analyze —he never wanted to dive so deep in the darkest parts of himself—, never felt so unnatural as if it was Richard Campbell Gansey III sleeping on his floor.

Nonetheless, usually Ronan wasn’t bleeding.

His leather jacket covering just one of his arms, left in plain sight half of his black tank shirt. Blood was dripping down his exposed arm in thin but thick threads that were creating a pattern over his pale skin. For a second, almost fascinated, Adam was unable to look away. After, his heart shrank hard before starting to pound even harder; unsynchronized, for once, with the ley line.

Blood.

Ronan’s blood.

When he looked up to his face, though, he didn’t see in his expression the slightest hint of pain. Just that smile, sharp and dangerous. His blue eyes reflecting the dim lamplight of Adam’s apartment, also seemed dangerous.

“What…?” Adam’s voice was low, hoarse.

“One of those fuckers got me good” Ronan mumbled, shrugging the shoulder that wasn’t bleeding, “are you gonna let me in or what?”

Without a word, Adam moved from the door. Ronan made his way up to his usual spot on the floor and Adam used a second to let the sensation settle in, of how Ronan could fill a room with his presence. In a different way Gansey’s did, like a sun presiding a galaxy and everything else being just a system gravitating around him.

Ronan filled rooms with a presence that reminded of a dangerous beast that anyone could find sneaking into their house, able to kill you and leaving you not knowing what to do. Lucky for him, Adam was used to dangerous beasts. At least, he was used to this dangerous beast.

Making his way back to the mattress, he sat behind Ronan. His usual scent hidden under the metallic smell of blood. Adam tightened his lips and then he let go a deep breath, pressing his palm against the mattress, denying himself from touching him.

“Let me see it” his voice was barely a whisper, trying to keep a neutral tone and his Henriettan accent at bay; trying, over all, to keep under control that surge of anxiety fighting to climb its way up his stomach.

Ronan didn’t say a word and, somehow, that silence was yet another presence in the small room over St. Agnes church. He let the jacket slide from his good shoulder and Adam felt, more than heard, how he took in a deep breath prior to wrap his fingers around the hem of his tank-shirt and slide it over his torso in a swift movement.

Blood dripped also down his back, thick and deep threads. On Ronan’s shoulder three deep wounds that could just have been done with the kind of claws that invited to NOT think of the size of their owner. Adam’s only reaction was letting out a sigh halfway between exhaustion and worry; he tries, more than anything, to ignore the fact that he feels his own insides being torn apart at the vision.

“Have you called Gansey?” Adam’s voice came out way weaker than he would’ve liked.

“I’ve called you” said Ronan, with the sort of soft snarl that made Adam’s insides twist, “well, closest thing since you don’t have a fucking phone”. Adam deciding not to dignify that with an answer, sank his fingers deeper into the mattress.

“You, of all people…” but he couldn’t hold himself. Ronan and his hatred towards answering his phone, or phones in general, were the less fitting to lecture him about not having one.

“I was close” Ronan muttered, almost in the way of an excuse. Not like he needs them with Adam. Not even a hint of his defiant tone from before. Just a whisper in which Adam could understand how tired he really was. And he couldn’t help but imagine him sleeping behind the wheel of his BMW, parked somewhere, dreaming for the sake of dreaming.

“Maybe you should go to see a doctor…” Adam whispered back, drawing his hand closer to the wounds, not actually wanting to touch him. Not daring to. He didn’t need to see Ronan’s expression in that exact moment, it wasn’t even necessary for him to say anything. He could see how the muscles of his back tensed before his sight and that made him remember vividly how, some time ago, a similar situation ended up archived as a suicide attempt.

“I’m not going to a hospital” there was something underlying in his voice that gave away the clear idea that, if anyone tried to take him there, that person would be the one in need of medical help. “Can you make it stop bleeding or not?”

Adam was aware, for the first time, of his frown. He took in a deep breath while he rose from the mattress. In three steps he reached he small first-aid kit that was half-forgotten in the tiny shelf of the tiny bathroom that completed the whole of his apartment. After, trying not to catch Ronan’s sight with his own, he made his way back to where we was previously sitting.

He opened the little box beside him, producing antiseptic and clean gauze to clean the wounds, and dragged himself closer to Ronan’s back, stretching his legs alongside his. He could feel the warmth of his body through the fabric of his pajamas. It was hard to believe he did no longer need to be wrapped in his blanket despite it being November.

With slow and precise movements, Adam cleaned the wounds, circling carefully around the parts that might hurt badly. With the efficiency of someone used to take care of wounds that might rise questions while he tried to find a way to make an excuse for an accident out of every single one of them. Ronan made no sound while he was cleaning him up, even though Adam knew from his own experience that the antiseptic touching a wound did hurt like a motherfucker. Ronan’s only reaction, however, was curling his fingers, grabbing a handful of the cloth of Adam’s pajama pants in two fists. Stoic Ronan Lynch. Unmovable Ronan Lynch.

He applied a clean gauze to the wound and fixed it with adhesive tape, keeping the feel of Ronan’s hot skin against the tips of his fingers. Adam knew he should pull his hand away. But on the other side of Ronan’s back, opposite to the now bandaged spot, lingered the dark tattoo. An almost lustful invitation to get lost in the darkest corners of himself.

Carefully, he slid his fingers over the bandaged part of Ronan’s shoulder, in a fake attempt to make sure it wasn’t going to fall off. Like he didn’t know already. With the feeling of being doing something that was forbidden, he run his fingers through Ronan’s skin. Slowly. With something that seemed shyness but it wasn’t.

They had spent countless nights talking about the ley line and Cabeswater, until they were too sleepy to keep the words coming out. Adam Parrish had seen shirtless Ronan Lynch way more times than what would’ve been considered appropriate. But they weren’t talking about the ley line. They weren’t talking about Cabeswater. And Adam Parrish was sliding his fingers with an almost tender gesture over the dark lines that marked Ronan Lynch’s back. Softly. Slowly. Following carefully every line, trying not to miss any.

The room felt heavy with silence. To the point it could almost feel like a third person, while Adam’s fingers trailed downwards and downwards through Ronan’s skin. He felt how each and every single muscle of his back relaxed under his touch; as if a dangerous beast had just been tamed. Adam could feel his proximity, the heat radiating from his body; perhaps the heat was all his own.

When he was fully aware of what he was doing, Adam had his chest pressing to Ronan’s back and his index was slowly running through the last of the tattoo lines, up his neck. When he was fully aware of what he was doing, Ronan’s breathing was deeper and more shallow at the same time, while he leant his head over his shoulder.

Ronan’s head leaning over Adam’s shoulder, his back to his chest. Adam’s chin resting on Ronan’s shoulder, their cheeks brushing. Ronan’s hands were still gripping the cloth of Adam’s pajama, but they relaxed until he could feel the heat of his palms on his legs across the fabric. He could also feel the air charged with static and that silence pressing from within him. Ronan turned his head and they looked at each other for what felt like hours. Ronan’s ice-blue eyes had lost every trace of danger when they met Adam’s. They were posing a question.

A question Adam hadn’t an answer for.

At least, not one different from leaning forward allowing his lips to brush against Ronan’s in a tentative way, almost as if his eternal fear to do something wrong was realer now than it had ever been before. It was then when he felt Ronan’s dangerous smile against his own mouth. As he twisted, somehow, in the tight embrace of their bodies, to be face to face.

By some miracle that probably was not part of Cabeswater, his lips hadn’t abandoned Adam’s.

They didn’t abandoned them either when Ronan planted a hand on the mattress and the other one grabbed the old t-shirt with a McDonalds logo on the front, that Adam used to sleep. Nor when he pushed him down until his back was flat on the mattress. Adam had a vague notion of what it was, kissing someone.

It wasn’t this, definitely.

It wasn’t something wild and senseless, losing his breath against the lips of one of his best friends. It wasn’t having his hands gripping so tight on Ronan’s sides that he was probably hurting him. It wasn’t this turbulent desire, hidden in the darkest parts of himself, taking control while he was rendered breathless. It definitely wasn’t feeling the button of Ronan Lynch’s jeans digging on the tender skin of his own pelvis. It wasn’t biting his chin in an attempt to regain the control he had given away when he left himself get lost in this, in him. It wasn’t a battle to push Ronan from on top of him, just to roll over him so Adam could be on top, straddling his hips.

Adam’s hand pressed on Ronan’s chest, feeling his heartbeat against his own skin at the same off-the-limit rhythm as his own. He leans in closer enough to look at him in the eyes. Those blue eyes that are a synonym for danger and forbidden. For the best part of himself. Ronan’s fingers are tangled around the waistband of Adam’s pajama pants while they look at each other. They study each other. Heat orbiting their bodies like a kinetic energy that just drags them closer to each other.

Silence was heavy and Adam thought he’d lost his voice.

Ronan’s smile was sharp like a knife against his throat. But it had none of its usual danger. Perhaps a childlike tender something to it. That of a fulfilled dream. Maybe.

“I owe you, Parrish” his voice low, not hiding either his gratitude nor all of his wanting.

Adam takes in a deep breath, letting the fingers on Ronan’s chest caress slow and ceremoniously, almost in an attempt for soft torture, until he’s touching the lines of his tattoo. He finds his voice while he leans in even closer.

And he manages two words before the silence falls over him. Over them. Over the room: “Then, _stay_ ”.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hi :3 If you made it here I assume you read the fanfic. I’m sorry I’m not a professional translator or something (yet) and I had a hard time trying to convey everything I put on it in Spanish. However, I hope you do enjoyed it :3 Thanks for taking the time to read this, have a nice day, everyone! :D


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